


Mr Kowalski's Feeling for Snow

by terma_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Kudos: 2
Collections: TER/MA





	Mr Kowalski's Feeling for Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).

  
**Mr Kowalski's Feeling for Snow  
by Jane Symons**

  
Man, snow is a very big deal round here in Freezerland.

First time I saw it, well first time I was dropped into it, nearly blew my mind. I was prepared for the snow, of course. I mean I know about snow but only city snow which is treated like it's something illegal and taken off the streets soon as you can say snow balls.

Guess I wasn't prepared for the sheer volume and expanse of the stuff. Everywhere. Everywhere you look. Every damn thing white—trees, sky, ground. Does strange things to your eyes. Sense of perspective's shot to hell. A man could go nuts over a touch of color.

And snow shoes. The least said about snow shoes the better...

But this time, Fraser says, this time we're not treking nowhere til he gets me fit. Snow fit, not city fit. Says he's giving me a proper acclimatization programme, whatever the hell that is. He's borrowing a friend's cabin for the purpose. Nursery slopes, he says, we'll start you off on those. Nursery slopes. Listen, I'm too cool for nursery slopes. Too sexy for them. When you've climbed mountains, slept in hammocks and been stuck in fissures, you're way too cool for that kind of stuff.

Fraser urges the dogs on faster. There's a clean satisfying sound as the sled cuts through the snow. Scenery is... white. I close my eyes, blocking it out, burrowing down into the blanket, remembering how I couldn't hack the snow shoes, how I panicked on the ice field. How I would have died ten times over without Fraser. I may be cool and sexy in the city but out here I'm like a kid learning how to walk. That thing about the Hand of Franklin, that shit I said about wanting an adventure, that was hypothermia talking, was out of my mind, this is not a good idea. Maybe we should go back to the city. To noise and color and baseball and Chinese takeout.

Then I feel the ring on my finger. This is going to be home from now on, Kowalski, so you'd better get used to it. Shape up, for fuck's sake.

But I keep my eyes closed all the same and what with the motion of the sled and the huffing of the dogs and Fraser humming happily behind me, I must have dropped off to sleep for a while. Next thing I know, he's gently patting my arm.

"Ray. We're here."

Great, I'm thinking, that means civilisation and buildings and stuff like that and I open my eyes to discover the same endless sea of white.

"Whaddya mean we're here?" I inquire, none too sweetly. That damn whiteness, it's like a never ending advert for washing powder. "Yer plannin' on buildin' us a quick igloo before nightfall or what?"

"Oh ye of little faith," Fraser says obliquely.

Drives me crazy when he's being oblique. "What is that? Ye of little faith," I mimic. "What is that?"

Mountie points, a little to his right. "Look, Ray, there's the cabin, through those trees. See it?"

I squint and I blink. Nothing helps. "I just see snow, Fraser, I see nothin' but snow. I can't even see the trees yer talkin' about."

"Over there." He jabs his finger.

I finally make out something that could be the back of a tiny building. It's mostly plastered in snow which is why it was easy to miss. I am not happy about it. "A cabin, Fraser? That's not a cabin, that's a closet. That is not a cabin."

With great perception, he says, "Perhaps you were expecting something a little larger, Ray."

I climb out of the sled, bunch the blanket up and throw it back on the seat. Feeling claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time which is pretty damn uncomfortable. I'm angry and I'm hungry and I'm feeling spooked and I'm still wondering how I'm going to cut it here. I want to cut it. I really want to. For his sake. And for mine. I'm always making chin music over how I want a new life and a fresh start and they don't come much fresher than this. Fraser's letting Dief free, giving me anxious little sidelong glances. The wolf runs circles in the snow, loves the stuff. Always knew it was crazy.

"Fraser, I'm not stupid. I was not expectin' a four star cabin with jacuzzi and gymnasium and swimmin' pool. But I was hopin' for somethin' big enough for me to be able to lie down and sleep, not stand up in all night long!"

He looks over again in the direction of the closet. "Ray, you're not by any chance looking at the wood store, are you? The cabin is behind it."

I look again. Sure enough, now I'm on my feet I can see the shape of a log cabin behind the store, more or less covered in snow but just discernible. It's like one of those cabins featured in cowboy films where folks are holed up for days shooting through the windows at hollering Indians circling round and round them. It's perfect. I feel really stupid. Maybe it's time I had my eyesight tested again. For poise, I kick the side of the sled. "Course I could see that. I knew that was there."

If Fraser's thinking about the fact that I'm blind, he doesn't refer to it. "Let's get unpacked, Ray. It'll soon be dark and there's a lot to do."

"Guess the street lighting round here is like inadequate."

"You could say that." He reaches out and touches my cheek and looks hard into my eyes. "Ray, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I say and try to believe it. "Long as you're around, Frase, I'll be okay." Now that I do believe. To work off some nervous energy, I push him and he falls backwards into the snow. I leap on him and we wrestle like schoolkids for a while. Then he grabs my head between his hands, kissing me hard. One good thing about this place is no-one's around to arrest you. It's very liberating to kiss him in a lascivious fashion out in the open air.

"Frase," I'm panting, when we stop for breath, "ever like done it in the snow?"

He chuckles and pulls me to my feet, dusting snow off me like I'm three years old. "No, Ray, that could be a little dangerous. Certain parts of the anatomy might turn blue and drop off."

"Ooooh." I wince.

He slaps my ass. "Come on."

We unpack the sled, lining everything up at the door. When we're done, it doesn't look like much but then Fraser said to travel light. He unlocks the cabin door, then eyes me up and down.

"No, Frase," I say, "not that."

"Why not?" he asks innocently.

"You only do that with a woman. A man does not get carried over the threshold."

Fraser scratches the area over his right eyebrow. "Well, how do you want me to get you over the threshold, Ray? Throw you over? Drag you over on your stomach?"

Although these alternatives sound kind of interesting, I shake my head. "Frase, look, I have two appendages here and I dunno what you call 'em in Canada but in little ol' America, we call 'em legs. And at the end of my legs, I have feet. And if I put one in front of the other, like so, I walk over the threshold."

"Understood," he says but I have the feeling he's a little disappointed. 

We'd tied the knot in Fort Good Hope that morning. 

There are red ships and green ships but the best ships are partnerships.

Weird looking native guy called Ninji performed the ceremony. Half the time didn't know what the fuck was going down. Plenty of weird stuff like burning oil, smoking sticks and incantations. Mountie was in his element.

At one point, I leaned over to him and whispered, "What's that smell, Frase?"

"It's whale blubber, melted down and mixed with—" He noticed the look on my face. "Never mind, Ray. Just carry on enjoying it."

Actually I wasn't enjoying it. Smelt like a combination of rotting garbage and my dirty laundry basket on a hot summer day but I didn't want to spoil the mood. Had to be good medicine if it smelt that bad.

Knew what was going on when Fraser took my hand and put a ring on my finger. Whale bone. Made it himself. What with the weirdness and the smell and the chanting, it was like I was having a particularly strange dream.

But I didn't want to wake up.

Ever. 

Mountie's checking out the provisions. "M&Ms, pizza, pastrami, coffee, cookies. Ray, when you went shopping, did you actually buy any food?"

"Whaddya mean? This is food."

"I mean proper food. Muscle building food." He sighs. "Never mind, we can go out tomorrow for some elk."

"Elk? Isn't that where elkohol comes from?"

"That's very funny, Ray."

I'm mesmerised by the sight of the whale bone ring on his finger, remembering how I put it there. I'm not thinking straight. "There's some place round here we can pick up elk meat?"

He's tut-tutting prudishly over a packet of chocolate jello I sneaked in at the last moment. "Mmm-hmm. On the nearest elk."

I suddenly realise what he's talking about. "Yer mean like bang bang it's dead?"

"That's the ticket, Ray."

"But elks look like deer, don't they?"

"Yes, I suppose there is a similarity."

I'm horrified. "I'm not gonna eat anythin' that looks like a deer. I've seen 'Bambi', Frase, seen it four times."

He's looking at me like I've grown antlers or something. "What difference does that make, Ray? Do you mean to say that if Walt Disney had made a film about a cow, you wouldn't eat pastrami?"

"Cows have nothing to do with pastrami," I say emphatically.

"Of course they do. Pastrami is made from beef."

"Isn't."

"It is."

I shake my head at him, pitying him for his ignorance. "You mean to tell me, you've never heard of the Pastrami?"

"The Pastrami?"

"I guess this isn't widely known in Canada but the Pastrami is a very shy animal, living quietly in the Italian alps and probably no-one would ever get to see it, only it's very fond of opera and it comes down from the hills for the opera season at Verona. That's when it gets caught. Pastrami hunters lie in wait for it in the orchestra pit."

Fraser shakes his head like he's got water in his ears. Looks like he's not sure whether to laugh or cry. "I'm going to start up the generator," he says, taking refuge in practicalities.

Panic gets hold of me. A generator! The only thing between us and darkness. I suddenly feel appalled at the thin line dividing us between civilisation and chaos. The feeling comes back, that feeling of dangling hundreds of feet above the snow in a hammock. A generator! Jesus, I need to keep busy, take my mind off this kind of stuff. This is no time, Ray Kowalski, to get philosophical. "What can I do, Frase? Gimme somethin' to do."

He's obviously impressed by my industrious attitude. "Well, you could cut up some logs for the wood stove."

"Right. Logs. I can do that."

Before he goes out the back door, the Mountie shakes his head at me and mutters, "The Pastrami." 

Working up a nice sweat cutting up logs. Used to watch the Waltons so I know how to cut up logs. Whistle while you work. It's a Walt Disney kind of day. If I whistle, I don't have to take any notice of the fact that it's quiet as hell round here.

Living in a city, there's constant noise, even if it's just the background sounds of traffic or the neighbour's television. Out here, snow muffles what little sounds there are. It's so damn quiet. Quieter even than a public library. Or maybe even the grave. Who knows? Quiet and white. White and quiet. I'm going to go nuts. I really am.

Guess I was too busy either chasing Muldoon, worrying over whether I was going to lose Fraser or fighting hypothermia to notice it before.

I slam the axe down hard onto another log. Maybe I could take my mind off how quiet it is if I pretend the next log is Ray Vecchio's neck. Man, I hate the creep. Mr I'm A Slick Dresser Vecchio. Mr Organise Your Mess Some Place Else Vecchio. I'm not normally a violent person. I'm not normally a violent person. I repeat myself when under stress.

I arrange the next log for cutting. I don't hate Vecchio because he took Stella away. I hate him because he took Stella away. It's not like I'm still in love with her or anything but I'd just prefer her to be with anyone else rather than him. Even that Alderman creep with his spins and his x equals y. Even him.

But mostly I hate Vecchio because he's had his filthy Italian paws on my Fraser. Because he calls him Benny. Because he's had two years with Fraser that I can never get back off him, however hard I kick him in the head. Time that Fraser's shared with the creep, fucked with him, slept and eaten with him. Time I don't want to think about. I sink the axe into the log and split it in two satisfying halves.

I know it's unreasonable to feel this way 'cause Fraser's all mine now and sharing time with me. But I feel this way all the same. I'm an unreasonable person. It's one of my best features.

There's an almighty thumping sound behind me. Could've been a charging bear or one of Fraser's Grissly Adams type ex-school buddies or something but it's only a load of snow falling off a tree. For some reason, the quietness that follows this is worse than the quietness that came before it. Suddenly I'm feeling vulnerable. All alone out in the snow and the quiet. That's it. I've had it. I drop the axe, narrowly missing my foot.

"Fras-er!" I'm running over to the cabin. What if he's not there? What if he's been abducted by aliens or got tired of my jokes and left me out here to die? "Fras-er! Where are you?"

"Ray!" He appears from behind the cabin. "What's happened?"

I reach him breathless and shaking. Suddenly I don't know what to say. "It's so quiet," I admit finally.

Anyone else, they'd have me committed. Fraser, he just nods. He knows. He understands this is going to be hard for me. Gave me a long talk on how it'll be okay long as I keep telling him how I feel. So I'm telling him. "It's so quiet," I'm explaining. "It's so damn quiet." Well, I think that just about covers it.

He puts his arm round my shoulder and walks with me back to the wood store. "In the city, Ray, all the noise and activity around you constantly draws the attention outwards so that you lose touch with yourself. Try not to fight the quietness here. I know it's going to feel strange at first, but allow it to draw your attention inwards. To your higher self."

I'm puzzled. "Higher self? I wasn't aware that I came in two sizes."

"Oh dear," Mountie murmers under his breath. Guess I'm missing the point yet again. "Perhaps it would be easier if you just bear in mind the words of E.M. Forster. 'Only connect.' Don't fight it, try to connect with it."

"Okay, I see, this I get. I can go with this. Connecting." I leer at him. "I really dig the way we connect."

I can see he's determined to finish this little lecture with a straight face. "I'm referring to connecting with nature, Ray. Connecting with the stillness around you. Don't let it intimidate you. Let it be your friend."

"My friend." I wonder where the hell he gets this stuff. "Right. I'll try that, Frase. The stillness is my friend."

"Good. That's the ticket, Ray. I'll be in the cabin, fixing the stove so that we have some hot water." He pats my shoulder encouragingly and strolls off.

I walk back to the wood store.

How the fuck do you make friends with stillness? 

There's nothing even remotely feminine about Fraser and yet he has this Mary Poppins thing my mom has where he can transform a place into home within about five minutes flat.

By the time I've finished cutting up the logs, he's got the stove going, made up a bed in front of it, laid the old pine table for two and now he's making soup. On top of all these domestic details, there's a delicious smell of cooking pizza in the air. Dief's dining first, noisy and enthusiastic, chasing the bowl round in a large circle.

Though there's electric lighting in the place, Fraser's kept it low, subdued. He's arranged candles in strategic places round the room. A radio's playing softly, probably in deference to my discomfort with the quietness. Snow's easier to deal with when you're looking out at it from a cosy cabin. Looks pretty, too. Now that it's getting dark, snow's taken on a sort of blue tinge. Strikes me how, acclimatization programmes apart, this is probably one of the most romantic ways of spending a honeymoon there is.

Fraser glances over his shoulder at me and smiles. He's stripped down to jeans and t-shirt and looks like the most delicious item on tonight's menu. I slip my arms round his waist, kiss the back of his neck and rest my chin on his shoulder, watching him cook. Stella, she hated when I did this. Said I got in the way. Fraser seems to like it, he gives me a running commentary on the origin, ingredients and calorific content of the soup. By the time he's finished, I feel like I know the soup really well, like my stomach's all ready to say hello to it.

Table's big enough for six sumo wrestlers but we sit together like space is out of fashion. I can barely keep my hands off Fraser. Restrain myself while we're drinking soup but the sight of him shoving pizza into his mouth, leaving a tantalising layer of grease on his lips, is way too much for me. I cut a chunk of pizza and feed it to him suggestively. Watch him hungrily while he takes it all into his mouth with an indulgent grin. Then I make a show of licking each of my fingers clean, enjoying the way his eyes darken with lust. He feeds me pizza in return, then holds out his fingers for me to suck. I make the most of it, taking each one into my mouth far as I can without swallowing his entire hand and suck hard, running my tongue up and down the length in a disgustingly lewd way. By the time I've finished, neither of us can keep still in our chairs.

Fraser grabs hold of me, heaving me over to the mattress he prepared with such commendable foresight. He's not exactly rough with me but he's lost that Canadian politesse thing somewhere along the way. I really dig getting him all steamed up so he's not sure whether he's on his head or his toes.

Mountie's all over me like a rash. A very horny, sexy rash that appears to be having trouble breathing. He kisses me, hard and deep and greasy. He has me naked faster than a stripper at closing time. I make an attempt to tear the clothes off his back but he bats my hands away. Wants to be in control. That's cool with me. I can go with that. I don't have a problem with it, not like some. From what I can gather, Mr Style Pig Vecchio had a macho thing, always needed to do the driving. Me, I'm happy in the back seat, the ride's terrific from there.

"Jesus!" Fraser clamps his teeth round my left nipple like a deranged limpet, while he's tickling my balls with his fingers. My nervous system derails itself, unable to cope with mind blowing pleasure coming from two directions at once. I can feel the sweat on my skin already, stove's pumping out heat all down the side of my body. I'm moaning and groaning and running my hands through his soft black hair.

It's all change and we're on the right nipple. His fingers stray from my throbbing balls and begin to probe delicately at my asshole. Okay so I'm a slut but it's impossible not to push down on them and impale myself. He gets the message, pushing two strong fingers inside me far as they'll go. I arch my back up into the movement and start grinding and pleasuring myself, stirring my insides with his digits, fucking myself with them.

"Jesus, oh Jesus," I'm wailing, "that is good, that is so good."

He pulls off my nipple with a lecherous kind of sucking sound, looking up into my eyes. He's flushed with excitement, hair ruffled, lips swollen and bruised with sucking. No-one at the 27th precinct would even recognise him and that thought gives me such a kick. I watch him in wonder, knowing he's mine now, body and soul.

"Ray," he's panting, "you're the sexiest, wildest lover in the world." Something of an overstatement from a man who's only had a couple of affairs during his lifetime but if that's what he says, he means it and I'm happy. 

Can't speak, can't think, I'm rotating my hips frantically now, grimacing with pleasure and I can feel my balls pounding. Mountie sees I'm close, takes pity on me and ducks down, swallowing me whole. I'm in bliss. Hot wet heat on my cock, asshole stretched and filled behind. Whether I thrust my hips forward or back, can't lose. I do both and go right out of my head. I'm screaming his name, working out my passion over his fingers, pumping his beautiful mouth full of spunk. He drinks it all down til I'm dry and trembling and boneless.

I've almost blacked out with the pleasure. When I start coming round, I find him kneeling, thighs either side of my head, his hot dick pressing against my lips. Really butters my muffins when he's like this. Constable It Only Takes An Extra Minute To Be Courteous Fraser is dying for it, can't wait, knocking at the door so to speak. He fixes the pillows under my head so I don't even have to strain my neck while I eat him. Fraser thinks of damn near everything. All I have to do is open my mouth.

He pumps me hard. I relax the back of my throat and open right up for him. Taken a long time to persuade him that if there's one thing I like in this world, it's being fucked hard, in either orifice. He's got the hang of it now, not so squeamish about it as he used to be. I run my tongue up and down his length and suck hard as I can while he thrusts into me, making my eyes water and my heart pound in my chest. It's so damn good I reckon I've died and gone to heaven. We maintain eye contact long as we can, says it thrills him to watch me taking it. Then I do my thing with the teeth, just using them to scrape over the skin of his cock and he loses it, screaming out, I count three-four-five hot spurts of cum down my throat and swallow it greedily. I drink him down into the depths of my soul, every bit of him mine now, no-one can claim him back anymore... I surprise myself with my own passion. I suck on him until he starts to protest and only then do I let him go.

Mountie slides down my body, gasping for breath, and we hold onto each other like a hurricane just zipped through the place and we're wondering what hit us. Dief huffs from the corner of the cabin as if he's thoroughly disgusted with the whole damn show. Better get used to it, wolf, 'cause tonight there'll be nothing much else happening if I have my way.

I wait til the blood's back circulating round my brain again and I reach over for my jacket where it landed on the floor.

"What is it, Ray?" He's post coital, deliciously out of it.

"Somethin' for yer," I say awkwardly. I'd practised a moving little speech over and over in my head but right now it won't budge. Looking into his beautiful eyes, I'm lost for the right thing to say. "Yer made the rings for us. I wanted to make somethin' for the occasion too." I thrust it into his hands. He props himself up on one elbow.

"You made this for us?" He's staring down at it like he can't believe it.

Frankly, neither can I. If someone had told me I'd fall in love with a Mountie and sit up late making a dreamcatcher for him, I'd have suggested they go pass a bullet through their brain. I've never made anybody anything. Well, nothing except a lot of trouble for my mother. Fraser's unnerving me a little, just staring and turning it round and round in his hands.

"I know it's probably not authenic or anythin' but I got it close as I could." Maybe I made it so badly, he can't figure out what it is.

"It's—it's—" Sounds like he's choking. Wonder if he's trying hard not to laugh. "Perfect."

And then the impossible happens. I see a tear falling down his cheek. Followed by another. Jesus Christ. Holy shit. Mountie's crying. It's impossible. It's like Darryl Hannah going into holy orders, like NASA announcing the moon's made of cheese. It just doesn't happen.

"Frase." I take him into my arms, hug him hard. He's sobbing but you'd hardly know, he's trying to control himself. "I love you," I whisper. Stuff from the past makes this so hard to say but just because it's difficult, doesn't mean I don't mean it. And something tells me it would be good for him to let go, just for once in his life, and wail like a baby and know it's okay to do so.

He breaks right down at this. He's sobbing out something that sounds close enough to "I love you" to make my heart sing. He has as much trouble with the words as I do, we've both been abandoned, one way or another. It's not like he has to say them for me to know, but they're music all the same.

I hug him hard and stroke his back. 

I make two immediate resolutions. The first is that if it means this much to him, I'll make more stuff for my Mountie in future.

The second is even if it kills me, I'll get to love the snow.

Outside, a slight breeze picks up and passes over the cabin like a happy sigh. 

End... 


End file.
